


Crashing Down

by swagruinsluminary



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mentions of Murdoc, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of noodle - Freeform, Takes place in a bar, mentions of russel, quickie in the bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagruinsluminary/pseuds/swagruinsluminary
Summary: They say never to meet your idols. Well, whoever came up with that was right.





	Crashing Down

You're not the average bar attendee, but after hours of constant nagging from your friends, you finally agreed to join them on their voyage to some local pub.

The second you open the door, your nostrils are flooded with a heavy stench of cheap alcohol and sleazy customers who haven't showered in days. For a second you wonder why on earth your friends--who are good, well-mannered people--would choose this of all places to visit. But then you saw it.

The Gorillaz.

It all made sense now; of course some well known band would come here for a drink--everyone is too involved in their own business (of getting wasted) to notice four fairly famous people walk in. 

Your friend pulls you away from the door frame and over to the bar, ordering two glasses scotch for both of you. Except someone plops down in the seat next to you, promptly informing the bartender not to get said scotch you and your friend so desperately craved and to instead bring out the most expensive thing on the menu. Confused, but equally thankful, you spin around to face the stranger, and what you see makes your heart flutter with pride. It was him. It was the lead singer of the Gorillaz. It was 2-D.

"Thanks." You say gratefully, watching as he looks you up and down, eyes swallowing in your figure. " 'S no problem, miss.." the frontman trails off, expecting you to give him your name in return, so you do. He smiles, then subtly rests his hand on your thigh. 

You and your friend resume talking as the blue haired singer watches lazily, his mouth upturned in a dazed smile, his eyes hooded and his elbow resting on the bar, head on top of his hand. It's hard to see where he's looking with his eyes caked in blood and all, but you're almost sure he's watching your face for a reaction to his hand gently making its way up your thigh, finally resting on the uppermost part. "How'd you like the drink?" 2-D cuts in, obviously oblivious to what your friend and you had just said, and turns his head to the side questionably when there's no answer for a few solid seconds. 

"It was really good." Your friend chimes in, smiling at him. The singer doesn't seem to care what she thinks, though. He only wants you. He only cares about your answer. "I enjoyed it, thanks." You reply awkwardly, and watch as his expression lights up. 

"I've got somefink' else you're gonna enjoy." 

Without waiting for a response, 2-D slips off the stool and stands up, his hand no longer on your thigh but instead entwined with your own. "Follow me?" Against your better judgment, you nod, letting him lead you to the bathroom and into one of the many stalls. 

2-D didn't seem to mind the constant flow of people pouring in and out of the conveniently unisex stall and pushed you up against the grimy, tiled wall and kissed you--hard. Despite his shaggy appearance, his lips were surprisingly soft and supple and warm, and you sighed softly in response, kissing him back with inadequate force which frustrates him a little, and you watch as his cool demeanor slowly becomes more frantic and needy. 

The singer pushes both of your hips together, grinding up against yours and gripping one of your hands in his own, leading it down to the forming tent in his jeans and you know what he wants next. So you oblige, somewhat because he's famous but mainly because the way he rests his head in the crook of your neck and haplessly grips your hips is as weirdly intimate as it is tragic. Your mind wanders off for a second and you can't help but wonder how long it's been since he was touched like this--much less touched lovingly by another human being at all. 

Your fingers fumble when you try to unbuckle his pants, but it's not because you haven't preformed such an act before, but instead because 2-D catches sight of what you're doing and starts grinding down harder in anticipation, placing soft, ghost-like kisses in the sensitive skin near the nape of your neck. Once you finally undo said belt and pull down his curiously colored boxers, it doesn't take long for him to come undone. His hips stutter against your hands erratically, his face nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck and you can't help but think of how oddly tragic this is--despite it taking place in an unkempt, bar bathroom. Once he finally finishes, you wipe the fluid on the silky fabric of his boxers and he backs away, glancing at the floor, his face flushed a muted red. 

The man who was engrossed with you only an hour ago now could hardly look at you in the eyes as he zips his pants back up, re-tucking his shirt in and fixing his hair. You want to say something, want to reach out and touch him and tell him that he shouldn't be embarrassed and that you didn't think any less of him, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do so. 

Without another word, Stuart turns around, unlocking the door. "Thanks, uh..." he stammers, frozen in thought for a second. "Thanks, Alex." And then he left, leaving you feeling lonelier than before and wondering who the hell Alex was. 

They tell you never to meet your rolemodels. Well, whoever said that was right.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in second person, so feel free to leave critiques! I wanted to write a quick fic while I was thinking up ideas for my other story, Happyfolk. If enough people like this, I could write what would happen if instead of 2-D, you chose to go with another member of Gorillaz, like Murdoc, Noodle, or Russel.


End file.
